Hope you all had a good Xmas. Just New Year to get through and then we can all get back to normal.

Sadly it looks like the Freeview box we got for my Mam and Dad won't work in their "sheltered accommodation" because they have a communal aerial and the signal's too weak. I've been advised to try a signal booster but the reports off others who have tried them are mixed to say the least. If all else fails we'll keep it ourselves or investigate the possibility of having their own aerial installed. Bugger !

---

Did well for pressies this year - DVDs included Bowling for Columbine and Peter Kay Live in Bolton - both excellent. Eldest and Youngest got together and arranged a "hospitality" day for Dearest and myself at City's ground when we play Leicester in the FA Cup next week. Can't wait - I just hope we win it's been very depressing around the country's best stadium of late.

---

Is there any point in New Year's Resolutions do you think ? We make them year after year and abandon them a few weeks (days) later. Has anyone out there successfully kept one for longer than a year ? I keep toying with the idea of......losing weight, more exercise, less drink.....but then again I do every year.

---

Had dinner with some old friends last night. It does us good to touch base properly. We go back that far we can't actually remember when we first met. Must be getting really old.

Mama But We're All Crazee Now

I never, in my wildest dreams, thought I would be able to commend Peter Allis for anything. So hats off to the man for refusing his Order of the British Empiah ! Something deep inside me suspects he was hanging on for a knighthood or something though. Y'know him being the World's most right-wing golf commentator an' all. Still I just might be being uncharitable to the misogynistic 19th holer.

It is really good to see the list of the great and the good who have had the presence of mind to tell the class-ridden dickheads who advise and solicit where they can stick their "honours". Yes, I know some were refused because they were holding out for a "better one", but any port in a storm eh ?

Here's a brief selection:-

---

Peter Alliss, golfer, OBE, 1992
Francis Bacon, artist, Companion of Honour (CH), 1977; CBE, 1960
JG Ballard, author, CBE, 2003
Nancy Banks-Smith, Guardian journalist, OBE, 1970
Alan Bennett, writer, knighthood, 1996; CBE, 1998
Isaiah Berlin, philosopher, life peerage, 1980
Honor Blackman, actor, CBE, 2002
David Bowie, rock star, CBE, 2000
Francis Boyd, Guardian journalist, CBE 1967; accepted knighthood 1976
Jim Broadbent, actor, OBE, 2002
John Cleese, actor and writer, CBE, 1996
John Cole, broadcaster, CBE, 1993
Hugh Cudlipp, editor, knighthood, 1966; accepted OBE, 1945; knighthood 1973; life peerage 1974
Roald Dahl, author, OBE, 1986
Bernie Ecclestone, formula one tycoon, CBE, 1996
Albert Finney, actor and director, knighthood, 2000; CBE 1980
Michael Frayn, author and playwright, knighthood, 2003; CBE, 1989
Lucian Freud, artist, CBE, 1977; accepted CH 1983 and Order of Merit (OM) 1993
Robert Graves, author, CBE, 1957; CH, 1984
Graham Greene, author, OBE, 1956; accepted CH 1966, OM, 1986
Alfred Hitchcock, director, CBE, 1962; accepted knighthood 1980
David Hockney, artist, knighthood, 1990; accepted CH 1997
Trevor Howard, actor, CBE, 1982
Aldous Huxley, writer, knighthood, 1959
Doris Lessing, author, OBE 1977; damehood 1993; accepted CH, 2000
LS Lowry, artist, OBE, 1955; CBE, 1961; knighthood, 1968; CH, 1972 and 1976
Barry McGuigan, boxer, MBE, 1986; accepted MBE 1994
George Melly, jazz singer, CBE, 2001
Helen Mirren, actor, CBE, 1996 (under Tories); accepted damehood 2003
VS Naipaul, author, CBE 1977; accepted knighthood 1990
Vanessa Redgrave, actor, damehood, 1999; accepted CBE 1967
Polly Toynbee, Guardian journalist, CBE, 2000
Evelyn Waugh, author, CBE, 1959
Rachel Whitehead, artist, MBE, 1997

---

Here's the story.

So, c'mon, which of you out there would accept or refuse and what would your reasons be ?

---

Eldest and I were down at the City of Manchester Stadium tonight for the crunch game between one of the most under-achieving teams in the Premiership and Leeds United.

Once again we battered a team who threw 10 men behind the ball and we just couldn't break them down. It's happened so many times this season it's starting to get boring. Opposition managers now have at least 3 match videos they can peruse at their leisure where we have failed to unlock packed defences. Tonight we were crying out for Berkovic but he wasn't even on the bench.

And, as for Anelka......World class striker my arse !

I think I need to get him out of my Fantasy Football Team as we are following the same inexorable downward spiral that Keegan's men are.

We Don't Talk Anymore

Whoops. Early reports of a constant flow of info from the lips of the Ace of Spades have now been scotched. That's a shame - I was so looking forward to finding out just how (and where) the taciturn despot had hidden those pesky WMDs for so long.

Meanwhile the "execution - right or wrong" debate is starting to heat up. Should be an interesting year 2004. Saddam's trail, Dubya's attempt to get re-elected and the possible end of Tony's New Labour tenure.

---

I gave blood today. When it came to having my thumb pricked to extract a little of my offering for testing, the bloody thing couldn't pierce my skin fully. It managed to pierce my nerve ends though, so each time they tried, I received a build up of pain. Fairly insignificant pain I grant you - but pain nonetheless. Trouble is, you've got to sit there and take it. Which I did through gritted teeth and hoping against hope that the same terminally bored nurse wouldn't be attempting to insert the one in my arm..

Chains

"We got him". Cue whoops and "alrights" from the assembled American hacks. I heard it on the radio so I couldn't see whether there was any high-fiving but I wouldn't be surprised. The BBC have reported this as being "loud cheers" from Iraqis in the press-conference. They weren't cheers - they were whoops. They'll be telling us that they were traditional Iraqi whoops next. When we went to questions from the floor, the majority were from American TV reporters. I'll eat my hat if it wasn't them doing the whooping.

Later, watching on TV, I saw the response of the Iraqis in the audience to the images of the captured Saddam. They weren't whooping. They were hurling verbal abuse at what they saw. I presume this was abuse directed at Hussein but I can't be sure - not being fluent in the language(s) of the region.

The stark "we got him" and the whoops etc were crass. This isn't a video game or a Hollywood blockbuster (although it probably will be soon). A sizeable number of Iraqi citizens as well as untold military have lost their lives in this war and I suspect that the capture of the "Ace of Spades" won't stop that process. Indeed Saddam may become an even greater focal point for the fanatics than before.

The USA coalition have stated that he will be handed over to the Iraqis and brought to court. Hmmmmm dangerous George, very dangerous. I know it has got to look like the people of Iraq get their justice, but I wouldn't have thought that there is a basic judicial system in place to carry out the promise. I would imagine every judge the country has was active under him. The poor unfortunates in front of them were hardly expected to get a fair trail were they ? Just a "legal" rubber stamp for whatever punishment had already been decided by the head of state. On reflection though, that's just what George wants isn't it ? A show trail. The inevitable guilty verdict and the concomitant death sentence might prove just a little too problematic for Tony though. Should be interesting.

The good news though is that Saddam's being "co-operative" and "talkative". I can only imagine then that he's telling them where all the WMDs are and how he masterminded 9/11 at this very moment.

---

Yesterday at Old Trafford Kevin Keegan demonstrated just why he has a reputation for being tactically inept. It's because he is. To play the same side and formation as last week at Everton was beyond belief. To persevere with it until 10 minutes from the end was laughable. Unfortunately he feels the need to play his expensive signings and not one of them is delivering the goods. Fowler, McManaman, Anelka, Sinclair and Bosvelt are complete and utter wastes of space. Time to shift 'em out and let some hungry youngsters take their chance.

Yesterday was the poorest derby display from a City team that I can remember. And that includes the 5-0 drubbing back in the 90s. Get a grip Kevin or bugger off.

Why Don't We Do It In The Road ?

Well, tonight I bumped into my MP (alright Dave), in t'Willow and he informed me that he reads my Blog ! OMG - nobody else I know does. When I first started doing this I decided to keep it to myself. I had a few reasons for taking this course of action: first of all I had read a "diary of a week" I had kept in the early 80s. Reading it back to myself after all these years, triggered memories of long-forgotten episodes that are - in retrospect - mundane, but, at the same time, profoundly interesting because they are newspaper-like in the way they pin your immediate thoughts to the events (national, local or personal), of the day.

Hmmmm......reading these entries back after 10 years, as a personal, historical document, they are fascinatng. But, by the same token, they are intensly boring to the casual reader. Boring to the writer as well after a few days. Unless you're a Pepys or a Benn. Viewed after 10 years, though, they are amazing. Viewed after a couple of weeks, they're crap. Unless you resist the need to read your recent Blog entries, the project eventually dies on its arse and you move on to other things.

The question is: how do I continue now that I know someone from *real life* who reads my Blog ? I mean, I'm not a "heart-on-my-sleeve" type. You're not going to find out anything "deep and meaningful" about me. Yes you'll understand when City depress me (quite possibly this weekend during the Manchester Derby). You may even grasp my political, musical and literary preferences, but, as a certain Mr Gordon Sumner once sang: "you'll still know nothin' 'bout me."

When I started this Blog, the intention was to see if I could keep it up for at least a year. A year - at the time - seemed impossible. But I stuck at it and, eventually, I started to look upon my postings as therapy. A release. A valve. It's been a hard year, the first year we, as a family, have had to address serious medical issues affecting nearest and dearest for example, but I think I just might be doing this a year from now.

Incidentally, my MP is too busy to Blog - after listening to his "typical day" scenario I reckon he is. He could *comment* though; couldn't he ?

---

Today, the very wonderfull postman brought the latest bargains from Amazon. Stevie Wonder's "Innervisions", Bob Dylan's masterful "Blood on the Tracks and Simon and Garfunkel's unbelievable "Bookends" are all now on *repeat* on my HiFi.

A Hazy Shade of Winter

Today I have a Neil Simon, 1967-68 preppy, NY in the fall/winter kind of feeling. Wrap up well and don't forget your college scarf. Not that I have any experience of the place in that season or any other. It was alien territory usually viewed from the cheap seats in the local flea pit. Delis, diners, downtown, dimes and DAs, America - then - still seemed glamourous, vital and class-free. Simon and Garfunkel's "Bookends" album is currently reminding me of how I used to feel.

George and his pals however are, once again making the country look anything but. Russia, France and Germany banned from bidding for Iraqi re-building contracts because they represent a security risk to the USAs interests. Just what this threat is isn't explained. Furthermore, there will be no restriction on successful companies sub-contracting the work out to the countries in question. So French contractors = security risk. French sub-contractors = no problem.

Capitol Hill doesn't do itself any favours does it ?

---

Grey, December days that should be full of snow have arrived bringing only rain. The Xmas rush continues unabated and life's little annoyances still rankle.

Being a "Thoroughly Modern Millie" I acquired some presents via t'internet. They arrived today as promised, via a "courier" in a white van.

"Sign 'ere mate" said the jolly courier chap after he had presented me with a boxed item that had clearly been hit with something - a hammer possibly, who knows ?

"Errrr....'scuse me but this box is damaged."

"Oh yeah...hmmmm. If yer quick an' yer phone 'em before twelve, they'll send yer a replacement." He proffered the pen once again indicating that I should 'sign 'ere'.

A thousand thoughts go through your mind at such moments.

"Why can't things run smoothly, why does everything have to be accompanied by extraneous hassle ?"

"Why can't he just take it back and deliver an undamaged one?"

"Why does this bloke - a courier for God's sake - seem to think that the damage has got nothing whatsoever to do with him and his couriering abilities ?"

"Oh balls to it, where do I sign........."

After drilling deep into the menu system that fronts Argos' telephone help line, I am told that a replacement will be delivered next Monday sometime between 8am and 6pm. How's that for a window ?

---

So, will Ms Carr become a Hindley for the 21st century ? Well obviously a lot depends on the outcome of the current trial, but I must say that this mug shot of the accused could possibly acquire the notoriety of the one of the moors murderer that we know so well.

Sometime in 1965 at the tender age of 11 I stupidly got into a car with a man and a blonde woman after they had stopped and asked me for directions. I couldn't explain properly - or so they said - so they asked if I'd show them. Adults you see, in those days you were taught to be polite to them and, well the polite thing to do was to comply with their request.

The minute we moved off I realised to idiocy of what I was doing and I become very scared. Neither of them spoke to me as we drove along. It was only afterwards I remembered that they supposedly hadn't known where to go. Fortunately for me we came to a level-crossing and a train was coming. We stopped and I quickly opened the door and ran and ran and ran.

Was it Brady and Hindley ? Well it could've been. Two of their victims came from areas not far from where I lived. It still gives me nightmares.

---

Nice to see France taking its secularism seriously. Pity we've got a leader who thinks he's got a friend who lives in the sky.

West End Girls

Last night saw the blue three quarters of the Occupied dynasty attending the annual City supporter's Xmas shenanigans. The guests included ex-captain and manager Tony Book along with Colin "The King" Bell. Ale was quaffed, stories told and jokes cracked. After an hour and a half of q and a, we adjourned for a buffet. Not being particularly hungry and needing to escape the crowded main room, we nipped into the tap room to replenish our glasses.

There was a darts match on. It was like an audition for some Mike Leigh production. Gobby women from Miles Platting - still under the impression that leggings are the ideal camouflage for wobbling thighs - screaming "'S'GAME ON IN 'ERE" every time you attempted to order. Playing darts you see requires copious amounts of zen-like concentration which can only be achieved via complete silence. Well it does when it's played by the professionals. When it's played by amateurs in the pub on a Monday night the concentration levels aren't quite up there. The women simply walked up to the oche and threw without any consideration whatsoever. Each time they did though "GAME ON" reverberated round the room.

After the match they settled down with their Bacardi Breezers and industrial quantities of fags as they cackled and guffawed at each other's every utterance. At 10:30 they all ordered taxis and shot off back to their local for "last orders". I've no doubt I'm being unfair in my assessment and I know that appearances can be deceptive but, well.....how can I put this ? Slappers. That's the word I've been looking for. Manchester's finest. Loud, brash, threatening. Lovely.

---

Three day's holiday coming up now. No doubt they will be full of Christmas shopping in inner cities bursting with teeming masses all hell-bent on earnest purchasing. Occupied Towers will be tinselled to death with tat scattered about the place like forgotten toys. Tempers will be frayed and torn and general knackeredness will abound. Eeeeeh Christmas eh ? Don't you just love it ?

---

So, the first toll-gates since Dick Turpin lurked on the highways of the kingdom have opened in the Midlands. I feel a bit ambivalent about this really as I am a selfish bugger when it comes to the public/private transport debate. I know that we should be discouraging rampant car use but, how many of you would prefer to travel in the comfort of your own space - with your own music playing - rather than being crammed into a bus or tube, surrounded by surly, stinking, sweaty humanity ?

I suppose the question is "will toll roads reduce congestion ?" Errr no I don't think so. I will predict that within a few years time, the road will be just as snarled up as the M6 is now. Unless, of course, they crank the price up to discourage too many users. Then again that would surely defeat the object. We'll see.

Mind you, even if it was gridlocked, I'd still be sat in my car in the middle of it all because, like I said, I'm a selfish git who won't pay through the nose to sit on a train, putting up with drunks, nutters and delightful females like the Miles Platting Molls above.

---

We've bought my Mam and Dad a set top box for Xmas - finally dragging them into the 21st century. I was prevaricating between Freeview or a DAB radio. The radio would have allowed them to tune into SAGA radio - which, I figured was more like Radio 2 used to be before "the most successful makeover of a Radio station ever". R2 you see was my parents' musical home. Sinatra, Ellington, Matt Monroe, Nat King Cole etc. Big bands and jazz used to ooze from that station at all hours of the day. Now it's banished to some late night slot and the rest of the schedule bashes out everything from the mindless pap pop of Sophie Ellis Bextor to the grunge of Nirvana or the blues-rock of Led Zeppelin. Certainly not natural fare for a 75 and 70 year old. When I looked into Saga Radio further though, it turns out that they cater mainly for the 50 plus market, stopping just short of entertaining septuagenarians. Jerry Lee Lewis, Bobby Vee and Little Richard all being just a *little* too modern for Mater and Pater. What a drag it is getting old.

So, in the end it was a digibox. A Goodmans model for £70 from Argos. Last night I was sat there trawling through the channels and I thought "how many of these will they actually watch ?"

Well obviously the usual suspects BBC1 and 2, ITV, C4 and Five. Maybe BBC3 and 4 as well as ITV2. After that we start to struggle. UK History will probably get a look in, a couple of the news channels and a few of tha radio stations. I can't see either of them getting into Bid-Up TV and the rest of the shopping and holiday channels.

Still, at least they'll now be equipped to survive the great analogue switch off later in the decade.

---

Dearest's Birthday tomorrow. She doesn't know it yet but I've booked a three night break in Nice next spring. Raise a glass to Dearest, Easyjet and t'internet.

Downtown

Last night saw Dearest, myself, Av and S in Manchester city centre enjoying the food and drink at the annual European Market. Much German sausage, cabbage and potato was consumed. Washed down with Gluhwein and strong German Lager. The smell of Dutch cheeses, Spanish hams and paella, English roast pork, French crepes, garlic and hot, roasted chestnuts was everywhere.

We started the evening in St Ann's Square where the theme was definately German. For me, St Ann's is the finest square in Manchester. The eighteenth century St Ann's church is a delight - even for dedicated atheists such as I. Refreshed with bratwurst, gluhwein and sweet buscuits we sauntered round the stalls selling traditional German tat and jewellry before heading towards Albert Square.

On the way past St Ann's church we stumbled across a very empty English - supposedly Dickensian - market selling Boddington's bitter and not much else. Ignoring it we carried on to the Town Hall. The huge inflatable Santa once again has pride of place on top of the Town Hall and he looks down over the revellers who throng the market in Albert Sqaure.

We had a great time for a good 3 hours. Dearest and Av stocked up on shallots, garlic Spanish sausage and fairies while S and I wandered round the various stalls dedicated to drink. Over the few years that the markets have been going, more stalls and huts have been attracted and people flock to it after work or shopping. I'd be tempted to give full marks to the council except for one glaring ommission. Toilets. Yup, you couldn't make it up. All that liquid being consumed and a not a toilet to be had. Oh there is one but it shuts in the evening. Consequently the local pubs - especially the Square Albert and the God-awful Slug and Lettuce bear the brunt.

Av and Dearest return from the Slug and Lettuce Ladies

Later we taxied back to ours and listened to Rory Gallagher, Free, Neil Young and John Mayall.

Starless and Bible-Black

Quiet and still. Quiet and still. That’s how I’ve felt the past few days. Not my natural state but sometimes a man needs to “hang loose” and ruminate. I think its probably Advent weaving its malevolent tendrils round every aspect of my waking (and sleeping) existence.

And what a lot of sleep there has been. Another mammoth 12 hour-er last night. 7:00pm to 7:00am with only a couple of brief surfacings that I can remember. I’m sure I should be ill. I’m not though. I just feel unbelievably detached. Don’t know why – I mean I’ve not (knowingly) taken any mind-altering substances for more decades than I care to remember. Stimulus – that’s what’s required. Stimulus.

I don’t suffer from SAD like Peter or Lyle, in fact there is a lot about Winter that I enjoy, but never-ending overcast days in mid-December, combined with unseasonably high temperatures, conspire to bring me down. Mix in the nightmare of Christmas and we have a recipe for absolute misery.

I took Dearest shopping on Saturday. Rancid Carols were constantly blaring out from inadequate speakers and shredding every nerve-end. Parents screaming at “Kylie” and “Kyle” and “Britney” and “Jordan”. People everywhere. After an hour I could have cheerfully killed myself.

Thankfully I resisted the temptation.

---

Now City are getting stuffed by Spurs of all teams ! There's something rotten in the state of Denmark my dears - and I think it wears the mark of Anelka. We haven't won for 5 games. We haven't scored for around 8 hours of play now. Something's not right. We've not had a run like this since the days of division 2.

---

So, Tony wants a book for Christmas. Personally I think I'd give him a copy of "Fame is the Spur" by that old Manchester Guardian journalist Howard Spring. It tells the tale of one Hamer Shawcross. Born in the slums of Ancoats, his left-wing views are slowly crushed as he rises the ladder of political success. Along the way all his principles are compromised as he leaves the people he grew up with far behind.

Mind you, he'd probably just think: "ripping good yarn", and allow the connection to pass him by completely.

Any Ideas ?